strange magic
by bubblesplat
Summary: In a flurry of colours, it became entirely too apparent that whatever strange magic Luna Lovegood had been tampering with had affected Draco as well. fem!Draco/Ivar
1. chapter one

Strange Magic

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note. First and foremost, I would like to explain why I turn Draco into a girl. There are actual, valid reasons, and I want to make it clear it's not just to avoid writing slash.

Now. Draco is a lot like how he is in canon, but I also changed him a bit. Mostly because he's the narrator, and I can hardly imagine book Draco thinking of himself as an arrogant clot. He's also more relaxed around friends, as you'll see. Like normal people. He's still kind of a brat though. Luna Lovegood is still that weird girl that sits by herself, but she's also not fanon Luna who is a seer for some bizarre reason and constantly speaking in riddles. I actually remember Luna being quite straightforward, so unless I'm remembering the books incorrectly I fail to understand why her fanon persona is a flighty vague seer.

At the end of each chapter is a Bonus scene, I generally write them when I'm stuck, or it's an abandoned idea, an alternate path the story could've taken but one I ultimately decided against for whatever reason. They still got written, and I like to include them for fun.

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1.

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_every thought that I repent there's another chip you haven't spent_

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It began, as it does, during the worst week of Draco Malfoy's life. Slytherin was in the midst of a rather vicious prank war, and majority of the student population had been collateral damage.

Sitting with his head buried in his hands, stomach turning and head pounding, Draco Malfoy made the executive decision to never drink again. Really, if he felt up to pointing fingers—the whole thing was Pansy Parkinson's fault. Along with the bold choice to never consume alcohol in this plane of existence, he also grimly despaired ever having introduced Pansy to Daphne Greengrass in the first place.

Somewhere near him, Daphne laughed unabashedly at something Pansy said. Draco felt what was either pudding or brain matter leak from his ear, and distantly wondered what deity he'd angered to deserve such punishment.

Despondently, he demanded of the universe, "I just want to go to sleep, and never wake up."

Beside him, Goyle's hand roughly came down on his back as he chortled. Draco could clearly envision the impending death of his friend. He imagined a knife, yes. A knife would do excellently. Magic would be far to kind. Or perhaps a nasty curse would do.

He settled on glaring, groaning pathetically at the brightly lights and the spasm of his brain. The pudding—though Draco thought it was still possibly brain matter based on how awful his head felt—dripped on the collar of his shirt, as if to emphasised this fact.

"Shut up," he hissed darkly, shaking Goyle's hand off of him. Crabbe grunted something from across them, clearly still drunk from the night before. He was sure it was all Pansy's fault only he and Crabbe seemed to be suffering side affects from the previous night, and greatly suspected it was retribution for turning her hair a rather unflattering shade of purple last Thursday.

His stomach rolled, and in an effort to keep himself from getting sick, he took a few tentative sips of his juice. In hindsight, this was probably the worst thing he could have possibly done for himself.

Off to the side, Daphne said something about class, and soon majority of the table began to depart. Draco swallowed the last of his pumpkin juice, if nothing else to give himself something other then bile to regurgitated later, as he sincerely doubted he'd be able to snag a helpful potion before the start of Herbology.

With a grunt, he stumbled to his feet, falling in beside Pansy, who found the whole situation generally hilarious. Draco was not amused.

"Headache, Draco?" she asked coyly.

For a moment, he seriously considered just vomiting on her shoes. Crabbe, however, saved Pansy from such a fate by interjecting with a moan, "I'm never drinking again!"

Draco groaned his agreement, ignoring Blaise's sharp bark of laughter when he caught sight of them all. He transfigured a pair of sunglasses from a coin in his pocket, passing them to Draco with a laughed, "Alright, mate?"

Draco grunted.

Blaise fell into step beside him, leaving Crabbe to fall back and stand beside Goyle as Pansy had claimed the other side of him.

"Do you know you've got pudding on your shirt?" asked Blaise, gesturing with his hand to the placement. Draco, feeling a little like how he imagined a reanimated corpse felt after a botched resurrection, settled on grunting again.

"Smells a bit too," added Pansy helpfully, snicker somewhere in her voice.

"Who's fault is that?" he basically growled, his stomach turning unhelpfully.

"You're the one who brought in the firewhisky."

"Yes, but you're the one who drank it," she reminded helpfully. Beside her, Daphne scoffed.

"And who was the one who charmed it in retribution for purple hair?" Daphne inserted helpfully, causing Pansy to slap her shoulder in annoyance.

Triumphantly, Goyle shouted, "I knew it!"

Buried somewhere under the general self loathing one feels when nursing a hangover, and half hidden by the urge to puke, Draco felt something like he may have deserved it. Of course, it was a shallow feeling, and was majorly drowned out by the fact that he'd never charmed Pansy's drink to leave her suffering harsh aftereffects of magical alcohol.

"Stop yelling," he practically begged.

"Remind me never to start a prank war with you lot," Tracey Davis remarked. Draco had a miniature out of body experience around then, and truthfully wasn't certain where she'd come from or if she'd been there from the beginning.

"Looking a bit green there, Draco. Might want to pop off to the toilet, yeah?" continued Tracey. At least someone was worried about his health. Merlin's saggy ballsack, some friends he had. Pansy getting him smashed and Daphne hiding all the pepperup potions. At least Tracey cared, halfblood status be damned.

"He does look a bit green," agreed Blaise, like a prat.

"Don't hurl on my shoes, I'd rather not deal with that," said Tracey, causing Daphne and Pansy to giggle. "What kind of a lightweight are you anyway? You hardly drank."

Draco's kind thoughts of Davis immediately evaporated.

"Sod off," he grunted, again. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. To Blaise, he said, "I'll catch up, I'm going to use the loo."

.

In retrospective, his day began to go wrong when he woke up hungover and someone's pudding ended up across his face. It began to go terribly when he was late to Herbology because of it, and was paired up with Loony as a result. She was fiddling with something, her hair unbrushed and her eyes as vacant as usual. Draco sneered as he sat down beside her. Draco didn't lower himself to speak with her—she'd just ramble about nonsense anyway, and he was fairly sure he'd missed some pudding behind his ear.

Sure enough, Luna glanced at him and informed him airily, "You have pudding behind your ear."

As he really had no witty retort to that, Draco glared and told her hatefully, "Shut up, Loony."

Discreetly, he began pawing behind his ear with his sleeve when she wasn't looking. His chest hurt as well, which was an interesting new hangover symptom. Draco reaffirmed his vow to never drink again.

Luna remained content to ignore him, and Professor Sprout for the rest of the class. He glanced over at her once, out of morbid curiosity, truthfully. Whatever she was fiddling with left a strange feeling in his stomach, an ache in his teeth. It felt old. Draco wasn't sure about other wizards, but in his humble experience, objects generally didn't feel like anything unless they were leaving you with a nasty curse.

Against his better judgement, he found himself eyeballing the contraption—a rather ugly looking amulet—as class neared the end.

Suddenly, a grin lit up her face, as if she'd figured something out. Draco might've entertained asking her about it, where it not for the sudden gasp from across the table. He glanced over curiously, only to catch the look on Pansy's face.

"Oi, Malfoy's a bird!" shouted some uncouth Ravenclaw, causing majority of the room to begin chattering and clamouring for a peek.

"What have you done now?" he spoke, his voice soft and girlish. Draco blanched, eyes wide as he processed what was happening. His hand raised to his throat, and he demanded, "What've you done!?"

He glared at them, and then realised nobody was laughing now.

"What!?" he shouted angrily, feeling defensive suddenly.

His eyes fell on Luna, who's mouth had popped open, her face drained of all colour as she stared at him in bewilderment.

"What did they do!?" he demanded fiercely.

"You're a girl," she said slowly, her voice still airy and light, but holding a soft edge to it he'd never expected from her.

"I gathered that much," he said through gritted teeth.

"We look very similar," she replied vaguely.

"Polyjuice—seriously?" he practically shouted at Pansy, who had begun to look distinctly uncomfortable. Sprout took this moment to step in, resting her hand on Draco's shoulder she asked of Luna, "Will you take him to Madame Pomfrey, dear?"

Luna nodded, her fingers curled tightly around the amulet she'd spent the class fiddling with. She almost reached out, but seemed to think better of it at the last moment, pulling her hand to her chest as she gathered her things. Draco followed silently in suit, feeling distinctly unsettled at all the looks he was garnering.

It wasn't all that uncommon. An easy enough fix, really. What left Draco feeling suddenly sober and cold was how nobody was laughing anymore.

He waited until they were walking down the hall to ask coldly, "How similar?"

Loony Lovegood didn't look at him. He suddenly felt very, very nervous.

"I asked you a question, Lovegood," reminded Draco firmly.

"You are Draco Malfoy, aren't you?" she asked instead. Despite the situation, Draco almost rolled his eyes. Instead, he took the sunglasses Blaise had transfigured for him and made himself a small mirror.

He held the mirror up, ignoring the slightly strangled sound that made it's way out of Luna. Holding the mirror up to his face, he began to understand what all the fuss was about, anyway. He himself had noted the similarities between Lovegood and himself on occasion. Pale, blonde hair and aristocratic features. But Draco's face was sharper, more narrow. He'd figured somewhere in the back of his mind that they might have been distantly related.

Looking at the female version of himself proved this was absolutely not the case. His face was still more angled then Luna's, eyes more slanted and angry—but as a girl, the curve of his jaw and the shape of his face was a little too similar for comfort. They looked like siblings. Draco let the mirror drop from his face, sliding it into his pocket without another word. He began walking again, not looking at Lovegood again.

"Draco—wait!"

Luna's hand clasped around his arm, and the world exploded in a flurry of colours, which was slightly unexpected.

Draco flew backwards, colliding with the ground harshly. His head banged against the ground with a dull thud. Something snapped under him, and for a terrible moment he was absolutely sure he'd somehow broke his arse.

It became rather apparent rather quickly that whatever strange magic had affected Draco so, had also latched onto Luna Lovegood. He quickly became aware of it, especially as she managed to land on his newly sensitive chest.

He pushed her off roughly, reaching around to find his wand. He wasn't certain what had happened to them, but a magical attack wasn't out of the question.

His fingers clasped around his wand, horrified to realise that had been the source of the snap. He didn't lower it, spinning around to look for danger. A broken wand was better then no wand at all. Luna had the same idea. She leaped into action as well, and unthinkingly took up Draco's blindside. Back to back, they scanned their new surroundings anxiously.

"What was that?" challenged Draco. "Portkey?"

"I've never had a portkey like that," shot back Luna just as accusatory. "Curse?"

"In my experience curses don't displace you," Draco snarked. Luna relaxed slightly, lowering her arm slightly as she turned to face him.

"I don't recognise this place," she told him. "This isn't Hogwarts."

"The forest is large," countered Draco.

"So is the lake," she retorted quickly, eyes still scanning the trees. Her eyes fell on him, then, and she sighed. "Draco, about earlier—"

"If what you are about to say has anything to do with my new appearance, don't." he told her firmly, leaving no room for argument. "Until we figure this out, it unfortunately looks like we will be stuck which each other as company. Now, I suggest we search for the nearest magical community and go from there."

Eyes wide, Luna stared at him for a long moment, her jaw clenching slightly, she nodded, agreeing. Momentarily satisfied, Draco turned to begin the search for civilisation. Luna ruined it by speaking.

"Oh, and by the way, your head is full of wrackspurts. Did you hit it when we landed?"

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He had refused to look at Luna for the past hour, arms crossed under his newly sprouted breasts. With his wand useless, he was in an even worse mood then before. Combined with the new ache in his chest, the never-ending hangover and the lingering agony of a phantom prick, Draco's mood was sour to say the least.

"This," he growled, stepping over a fallen tree, "is the most absurd day of my life."

"I've had stranger," chimed in Luna. "Once, I got lost in London—the Muggle part, you see."

Luna continued talking, chattering about nonsense. Draco tuned her out, her words floating in through one ear and were immediately forgotten. He didn't bother will telling her to shut up until he though he head voices.

"Be quiet," he interrupted. "Do you hear that?"

"Do you think it's people?" asked Luna.

"Yes," he said shortly before raising his new, girly voice and shouting, "Help!"

The voices quickly stopped, and without hesitation Draco took off in a sprint towards where he'd heard them coming from. He didn't stop to see if Luna was following or not, utterly unconcerned with her wellbeing, truthfully. He ended up in a small clearing of sorts, spotting a poorly dressed Muggle kneeling beside a trap with wide eyes.

Draco brazenly pointed his wand at the Muggle, and demanded, "What land is this?"

The Muggle shouted something fearfully, in a strange language. It sounded Germanic, but even Draco's limited skills in it told him that it certainly wasn't. Dutch? Flemish?

Luna appeared beside him, falling into step and pointing her wand at the man without a word. "Don't curse him."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, I was seriously looking forward to going to Azkaban for practising underage magic on a Muggle to curse him."

Luna scoffed, and asked the man, "Where are we?"

"I already tried that, he doesn't speak English," informed Draco blandly. Luna nodded, pulling her wand back as Draco kept his poorly mended one fixed on the man.

"I know a charm," she explained, quickly casting it on the two of them. "He needs to speak."

Nodding, Draco lowered his wand slightly and pointed at herself and said firmly, "Draco."

The man squinted. Draco pointed at Luna and said, "Luna."

The man stared vacantly, before asking, "Hwiðer eart þū fram?"

Draco glanced down at the wailing Muggle, and informed him baldly, "I never forget a face, but in your case I'll be glad to make an exception."

Luna grinned at the man, completely ignoring Draco's wit, and asked him in the same language, "Where are we?"

"Llyne," he said.

Draco scowled, turning to Luna to ask, "Are you certain the spell worked properly?"

"Yes," huffed Luna. To the man, she asked for clarification, specifically, "Who is your ruler?"

The man frowned, and told her, "King Aelle."

Luna absolutely stared at the man.

"Excuse me?" she sputtered incredulously. Draco had no idea she was capable of sounding like anything other then a whimsical fairy weirdo.

"Of Northumbria," the man elaborated, a little fearfully. Clearly he knew the threat was still present. Draco was momentarily satisfied with his intimidation factor, despite the circumstance. Still, he was hardly useful.

"This man is clearly an imbecile," Draco said. "I've never heard of Northumbria or this Muggle king."

"Don't patronise the man. He's fine, if not a little scared. He knows who leads him," scolded Luna. "Besides, how would you know? Do you know any Muggle rulers?"

His cheeks reddened as he sputtered indignantly, annoyed. She was messing with him, he felt.

"Oh like you could name any of the Muggle monarchs," grumbled Draco.

"I thought they already had names." said Luna without missing a beat. It was then, Draco was absolutely certain she was just fucking with him now.

Draco squinted in her direction, lowering his wand in favour of turning to tell Luna just exactly what he thought of the Muggle Monarchy when the man suddenly took off in a sprint, screaming about invaders.

"Stupefy!" shouted Luna, successfully binding the man before he got too far.

"I told you he was an imbecile," grumbled Draco as he walked over to the man. Luna rolled her eyes, but didn't disagree this time.

"I would've thought a letter would have been sent by now, demanding our presence at the Ministry," she said instead.

Reluctant as he was, Draco agreed. The man looked between them fearfully, and Draco told her, "Or we'd be apprehended by Aurors. You think were not in the UK anymore, don't you?"

Luna looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "I think it's much worse then that."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he snapped.

"I think we are exactly where we were."

"Don't be daft, of course we aren't."

She shook her head. "How sure of that are you?"

Draco wasn't sure, not really. But he'd rather keel over dead then admit that to Loony Luna Lovegood. "The Ministry has been around for centuries. If we've really time travelled, the Ministry would still be around—Hogwarts has been around since the 9th century. What you are implying means we've travelled back more then a thousand years. No wizard has ever done such a thing."

Lovegood sighed, and didn't press the subject anymore. "What do we do with him?"

"We?" asked Draco. "In case you haven't noticed, my wand is broken. I can hardly cast a sodding spell with it in this state. Obliviate him."

Luna pursed her lips, clearly unhappy with that. "I'd rather not," she admitted like it was some dark secret. "But if I am correct and we have travelled through time—"

"I don't care," interrupted Draco rudely. "Just get it over with and we can have him lead us to civilisation."

Luna huffed at him, but dutifully pointed her wand at the man and said clearly, "Obliviate!"

After a few moments, Draco looked at Luna, and then to the man. "Well?" he prompted. "Did it work?"

The Ravenclaw shrugged. "I hardly know, I've never done it before."

Draco's eye twitched, and he stepped in front of the man and inquired with all the grace of an aristocrat, "Excuse me sir, it appears that my sister and I have become rather lost."

The man didn't move, beginning to drool. Fantastic. "Delightful," he quipped. "Now we have a vegetable."

"It was an accident!" protested Luna indigently. Draco scoffed.

"I didn't mean too," she insisted.

Slowly, Draco began to laugh. Luna frowned. "It's not funny."

"I disagree," retorted Draco, determined to one up her. "Everything is funny as long as it's happening to someone else."

"Is that really what you think?" Loony needled annoyingly.

"I never say things I don't mean," sassed Draco.

The look she gave him said more than he thought words ever would. They lapsed into silence after that, Draco sitting on a nearby log while Luna paced. The man continued drooling helpfully. Wordlessly, Draco began fiddling with the hack repair job on his wand. Luna had given him some tape, but Draco was aware that it wouldn't last long. In truth, he'd likely need another one entirely, but in the current situation—presuming Luna's outlandish assumption of time travel held any merit, Draco would have to make due with fixing it.

"We should take him back," said Luna suddenly, derailing Draco's thought process entirely.

"Huh?" he said smartly.

Luna gestured at the man, her wand in her hair. "He lives somewhere, and has a wife who will be thankful."

Draco scowled. "How do you know he's married?"

She looked at him like he was a bit slow. "He has a ring."

Oh.

Feeling a bit silly, Draco angrily pushed his long hair out of his face and accused, "And you know she'll help us."

"You are very difficult," said Luna airily. Draco fumed silently as she wound an arm around the man's waist and helped him stand. "He was walking this way, it's safe to assume we can go the opposite direction until we hear something or find a trail."

"Clever," mocked Draco.

"I am so clever that sometimes I don't understand a single word of what I am saying," Luna replied blithely. Draco nearly asphyxiated in his rage. He crossed his arms under his new, weird, jiggly boobs—which, he was absolutely enraged about, thanks—and began stomping after Luna and the stupid man.

"When we get to the village, we should avoid people until we have an idea of where we are exactly," ordered Draco. It was easy, giving orders to people. Crabbe and Goyle always fell in line without a thought, and Luna would only argue a little before giving in, presuming she disagreed.

"Alright," agreed the blonde girl who was always a girl. Draco was still mad about his missing dick. "I'll look around though, and you should test a simple spell on your wand at some point before we get there."

Wordlessly, Draco tried Accio on a nearby twig. It didn't work, so he tried out loud. "Accio twig."

Nothing.

"We can try and fix it later," offered Luna kindly. Draco tucked it back into his pocket without another word, feeling quite bitter about it all. It felt entirely unfair that Lovegood's wand was perfectly fine, that she was the proper gender, while Draco had a broken wand, boobs, and a hangover.

Nobody spoke after, Luna clearly sensed Draco's deteriorating mood, and combined with the weight of the man who's brain she'd accidentally botched, she was much more solemn then usual. Draco stomped angrily though the forest, and nearly exploded when his cloak snagged on a branch.

His magic lashed out in a way it harden since he was a child, causing the trees the shake and the ground to rattle. Luna's gaze flicked to him, a frown on her face as she processed what was happening. Draco swallowed, taking a few deep breathes as he detangled his clothes from the branch without a word. The rattling stopped, and Draco knew that Luna knew it was him.

They didn't say anything for quite some time following that.

.

The village they came upon was something from a history book, and it left Draco feeling distinctly unsettled as he considered Luna's previous words.

The blonde Ravenclaw gave him a look that was unreadable—or perhaps to someone else it was, and Draco's lack of familiarity with Luna was preventing him from deciphering it completely. Slowly, quietly, she rested the vegetable man against a rock. Boulder? Whatever, it was a large rock that successfully hid them from view when crouched behind it.

"I'm going to look around, make sure they won't immediately burn us at the stake for witchcraft." said Luna, barely above a whisper.

Draco nodded, settling down in the grass behind the stupid man. He glanced at the man as Luna disappeared down the hill they resided on.

"Don't suppose you've an idea for fixing this?" questioned Draco sarcastically, waving the wand with his hand. A bit of drool rolled down his chin. "Didn't think so."

Draco resorted to staring vacantly at the sky until Luna came sprinting back.

"Was I not clear enough when I said don't speak to anyone?" hissed Draco as Luna returned with a bound man. "It felt obvious that abduction wasn't permitted either!"

"He wasn't cooperating," Luna said by way of explanation. Draco found it sorely lacking and looked aghast at the clearly annoyed Muggle man.

"Wonderful idea, now he's going to trot on back and tell everyone witches are invading as well as Vikings." Luna opened her mouth to reply, to which Draco simply reminded, "I think we both remember what happened the last time you Obliviated someone."

"I panicked," defended Luna. "He hardly glanced at me before he started accusing me of being a thief."

"I see," Draco replied dryly.

Luna clearly was prepared to argue some more, but Draco changed the subject before she got the chance, he hardly wanted to listen to her more then he must. "What the bloody hell do we do now?"

"Stick to the plan," said Loony firmly. Draco decided she was fucking insane, then, and resolved to call her Loony until she acted like a normal person again.

"That," he remarked, twirling his wand. "Is a terrible idea."

"You have a better one," she guessed.

Draco didn't, but he'd certainly think of something.

To the new kidnapped Muggle, he asked, "What year is it?"

He'd been entirely ready to lay to rest Luna's silly theory of time travel, at least until the man spoke and completely ruined it all by blandly informing Draco that it was, in fact, the year 816.

Draco experienced what could only be a coronary. Strangled, he managed, "What?"

Loony seemed triumphant that her wild guess held any merit, and Draco felt betrayed.

"No it's not," he told the man flatly. To Loony, he said, "Clearly you muddled up that spell as well, look at him," Draco pointed at the anxious man with his wand. "He's got anxiety."

"I do not," said the man irritated.

"I did the spell just fine," said Loony. "And—"

Draco interrupted before she could sprout more nonsense and informed the witch, the vegetable, and the kidnapped Muggle blandly, "We didn't travel over a thousand years into the past."

The look Loony was giving him bore a startling resemblance to the one she'd given when he first turned into a girl. Even the Muggle was looking at him like he was a bit slow.

"Stop looking at me like that," he complained, suddenly aware again of the curls brushing his neck, the lit in his voice and the lumps on his chest.

The blonde witch blinded owlishly. They lapsed into an awkward silence,

Draco's more out of a consuming rage and Loony's much more pensive. The Muggle was watching them both in silence, oddly calm. The sun was setting rapidly, and even as the last light faded away neither Draco or Luna had a solid plan.

"So," the Muggle broke the silence. "Is there any chance of you letting me go?"

"No," said Draco the same time Luna said, "Yes."

Draco scoffed. "We can't very well allow him to swan off and tell the country he was kidnapped by witches."

"Why not?" asked Luna.

"Yes," agreed the man. "Nobody would believe me."

"Blame many disappearances of yours on witches?" inquired Draco mildly.

"It's been known to happen," he grumbled. Draco fought a laugh, and the group lapsed into silence that spanned well into the night. By the time the Muggle man was snoring in the grass, Draco had found a place near Luna, looking at the stars.

"How did you know so quickly?" Draco eventually asked her, confident in the dark.

She didn't say anything for a long moment, her hair sprawled out around her as she laid in the grass staring at the stars. Draco laid down beside her, upset with himself for needed her at all. Luna finally admitted, "It felt different."

Staring at the cloudless sky, he wondered if what they said was true. Bad things happen to wizards who mess with time.

"There's Mirzam," said Luna suddenly, arm pointing straight up.

Draco's gaze followed her hand to where she was pointing. He squinted in confusion, "That's Sirius."

"No, it's not," protested Luna. "Sirius is a person."

"Yes," agreed Draco slowly, glancing over at the Ravenclaw. "Who is named for the star."

Loony smiled at him as though he was the crazy one. "You hit your head hard earlier, does it still hurt?"

Draco squinted suspiciously, sitting up to frown at her. "Are you taking the piss out of me right now?"

"Why'd I do something like that?" she asked serenely, never once looking away from the stars.

"You are!" accused Draco, causing Luna to laugh unexpectedly.

He couldn't recall ever having heard her laugh before, and the sound startled him into silence. "Sorry," she apologised carelessly. Draco was placated enough to lay back down, but couldn't quite shake his feelings of morbid curiosity. Luna Lovegood was a weird sort, she walked around without shoes and talked about mythical creatures and assumed time travel instead of something reasonable, and she pretended not to realise things could share names. And Draco Malfoy was stuck in the year 816 with her.

Whatever charitable mood that had possessed Draco when he laid in the grass evaporated in an instant. With an annoyed grumble, he rolled on his side away from Luna and the Muggles, and went to sleep without another word. His last coherent thought before sleep took him was a desperate hope that when he woke in the morning, the whole thing will have turned out to be a hangover fuelled nightmare.

.

**Bonus**

Suddenly, standing there, stark naked as the day he was born, his idea was looking a lot less good. The wind picked up. Luna's teeth began to chatter as she brought her arms up to cover her chest.

"This is never going to work," she informed him simply.

"Loony, it will work," insisted Draco, unwilling to give in and admit it was a bad idea.

"I'm just not certain that convincing a whole town we are fairies is a great idea." She had a really good point, but frankly, Draco was working with a broken wand, tits, a hangover, a kidnapped man, and a vegetable, so if anything was going to get them out of their current insanity, it was either this, ending up with two vegetables instead of one, or running in the other direction and hoping for the best.

"I didn't hear you suggest anything better," he told her baldly. Luna quieted fairly quickly.

"Come on, let's get this over with." he said, grabbing her arm.

Luna allowed Draco to lead her over the hill, and with a pained expression, he glanced between her and the now visible houses, and sang unhappily, "A clearing close in the forest you'll—"

A hand slapped over his mouth, and the look Luna gave him was aghast, and she told him seriously, "If we are going to do this, we must do it right."

She grabbed her wand, casting a quick spell Draco didn't recognise. She began to hum, linking her arm with Draco's as she began to spin. Despite himself and the earnest absurdity of the situation, he allowed himself to join in, familiar with the tune.

"Sing me a song of a lass that is gone, say could that lass be I?" Luna's voice echoed across the lands, firm and haunting without a melody.

"Merry of soul she sailed on a day, over the sea to Skye." joined in Draco. His voice wasn't the same as Luna's, but whatever spell she'd cast gave it the same ethereal effect.

"Give me again all that was there, give me the sun that shone, give me the eyes, give me the soul, give me the lass that's gone." Unlike Draco's initial half assed attempt, they didn't speak in the language of the land they now inhabited. It didn't take long, as the sun lowered in the horizon, as if on cue, a few brave Muggles dared venture up the hill.

If nothing, this blatant display would be enough to give them something else to work with.

The man Luna had taken was more then willing to tell them whatever they wished to know, hardly commenting on their accented 'English' or their mere unsettling existence in general. He quickly seemed to get over the whole 'Viking' angle, once Draco and Luna had begun to ask questions no raider would need.

"What year is it?" they asked, their eyes the same, both pale, blonde girls, he'd looked at them for a long moment, tilted his head in confusion, and whispered, "Fairies."

And then, he'd confirmed Luna's outlandish theory. Draco knew they needed a way into the village, and their best option was using veggie and their kidnapped man as leverage of some sort. Probably under the pretense of returning them.

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**note**. and scene! The formatting got fucked when I uploaded this, so that was awesome to mess with. Bonus scenes are basically just alternate ways the story could've gone. I write them when I get stuck, basically, or they are scenes that got scrapped because I didn't like them for whatever reason.


	2. chapter two

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note. It's important to note that by the time Luna comes back, it's the evening. I might not convey this well, but Draco is alone with Coelfrid ALL DAY. There's nothing to do, and I didn't want to write about 12 different silences because there is literally nothing else to do.

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2.

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where do we begin. to get clean again. can we get clean again?

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He awoke in the morning cold and angry. Loony was nowhere to be found, nor was the vegetable (Draco really needed another name, and silently resolved to refer to the man as Cucumber until something better came along), leaving Draco alone with the other one.

Suddenly annoyed, Draco turned to the man and demanded, "You there, Muggle, what is it you're called?"

The man's eyes widened comically, his mouth opening and closing rapidly as though he couldn't quite be sure what he was hearing was correct. "Coelfrid," he finally said.

Draco immediately decided it was a terrible name, but kindly kept such thoughts to himself. "Coelfrid," he ended up repeating. For lack of anything else to do, he ended up informing the Muggle casually, "Draco Malfoy."

Coelfrid didn't say anything after that, and Draco was content to stare off into the distance and wonder where the hell Luna swanned off too. Abruptly, Draco remembered Coelfrid's existence and turned to him. "You, Coelfrid, where did Lovegood go?"

At the man's confused look, Draco huffed and elaborated, "Luna—the girl. The one who kidnapped you."

His face brightened in understanding, or perhaps he genuinely liked Loony—Draco wouldn't presume to understand the inner workings of a Muggle brain. "She took Eadhelm to Llyne. She wanted to bring him to a healer."

"Llyne," began Draco, eager to get information. "That's the village there?"

The man shook his head. "No, that is Yarrin. It has no healer. The nearest town is Llyne."

Draco nodded in understanding. "How many people are there in Yarrin?"

Coelfrid clammed up suddenly, pursing his lips as he eyeballed Draco in suspicion. The wizard rolled his eyes, brushing ogg his pants as he stood. "Oh for the love of Merlin—I'm hardly about to lower myself to stealing from Muggles."

The Muggle bristled indignantly. "What is that word? Muggle."

Critically, Draco looked at the man and told him smartly, "It's what you are."

Coelfrid had the gall to scoff. "Is it?" he mocked, clearly feeling brave for some deluded reason. Draco was menacing, dammit.

Determined to one up him, Draco said slowly, as though speaking to a mentally impaired child in a language they weren't completely familiar with, "Yes."

The man looked at Draco intently, like he was trying to figure something out. Finally, he said, "You aren't particularly scary."

"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded Draco, righteously offended.

"Little girl like you, can't even do magic like the other one—she your sister?" Coelfrid was obviously toying with him, probably hoping to manipulate Draco into releasing him. Despite himself, despite the fact that Coelfrid was a Muggle, Draco found he almost liked him.

Draco rolled his eyes, and said baldly, "A few things to set straight: first, I'm not a girl, second, if you think for a moment that Loony is better at magic then me then you have clearly suffered an injury, and third, you aren't as smart as you seem to believe yourself to be if you think Loony and I are siblings."

"Oh, my mistake," corrected Coelfrid, leaning back with a smug grin. "I was under the impression you'd yet to flower—what with the lack of—"

A rock hit the side of his head, Draco hadn't moved an inch. Coelfrid stared furiously at him, and demanded hotly, "Did you just throw a rock at my head?"

"No," replied the wizard simply.

The dark haired man gaped, and nearly shouted, "You did! You threw a rock at me!"

"I didn't throw it," insisted Draco.

"I suppose you'll try to convince me rocks have the ability to fly now," retorted Coelfrid sarcastically, eyes blazing.

Draco sniffed primly, crossing his arms under his breasts. He sniffed, "I said I didn't throw it. Not that it wasn't me."

Coelfrid sputtered. Draco smiled coyly, amusement bubbling somewhere in his gut. "You're alright for a Muggle," admitted Draco, like it was painful to say. Perhaps it was.

"Now I know it's an insult," quipped Coelfrid.

Picking up his wand, he attempted to conjure something to eat. He succeeded in producing a rather small apple. Pleased, he took a bite before finally telling the Muggle, "It's a person without magic."

"And that's bad," inferred the man. Draco had to admit, if nothing else, Coelfrid was quick on the uptake.

"Muggles hunted us for centuries," Draco felt the need to explain. "Our worlds should never mingle."

Coelfrid looked away. "Is that why you hate us?"

Draco bit back his knee-jerk reaction of claiming he didn't, but that didn't feel true, exactly. He didn't hate Muggles. He only…

The wizard said nothing. Coelfrid continued his questions, "Have you ever met a Muggle before me?"

Draco had. A few times. Once, when he was only a child. He'd gone into the Muggle world with his mother, to a park. A little girl had called him a freak when he made a flower bloom for her. He didn't know why she'd taken him in the first place, but the little girl with pretty brown eyes and curly blonde hair had called him a freak and Draco Malfoy had never wanted to go back.

The second time he was older, it was just before his first year. He was in Diagon Alley with his father, who'd left him to wander while he stepped inside Gringotts for a few moments. He was eyeballing a broom on sale when a Muggle woman had run into him, she was entirely out of her element, her son looking just as lost. She had looked so out of depth, so confused and nervous, Draco had politely asked if they needed directions. He ended up leading them to Gringotts as his father exited.

The scolding he received that night had seemed so simple then. Don't speak to Muggles. They are beneath you. They can't even read the signs right.

"Yes," said Draco after a long pause, appetite gone. He held the rest of it out to Coelfrid, who eagerly took it. Sometime before Luna had left that morning, she'd taken the time to tie him up instead of leaving him completely paralysed.

"Did Loony forget to feed you?" questioned Draco in bemusement. It seemed rather unlike her, what with her being a real humanitarian and all.

Coelfrid shrugged. "She was leaving when I woke, she told me where she was going and then left. Didn't exactly stick around to chat."

Draco nodded his understanding, ready to fall into silence and go back to ignoring the Muggle.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Draco scoffed. "As though you've got a penny to spare."

He leaned forward, smiling flirtatiously, "I'd always have a penny for a pretty girl. What's got you frowning over there?"

The wizard sighed, not even wanting to unwrap the fact that a Muggle he'd helped kidnap was flirting with him. "I was only thinking of what my father would say if he saw me like this."

Coelfrid nodded sagely. "Mine would say, 'Your breath could knock a buzzard off a shit wagon.'"

Draco snorted a laugh, but caved. He'd blame it, if anyone had asked then, on the exhaustion from sleeping outside, the isolation he felt in the wrong time, and the weariness he felt on being a girl. "He'd be humiliated. He'd tell me I'm an embarrassment to the Malfoys. He'd tell me I was a traitor to a dead Dark Lord for speaking with you, for letting Luna speak to me. He'd be infuriated that I broke my wand, and I loathe to imagine what he'd say about my appearance."

After a long silence, Coelfrid said quietly, "It's okay to doubt what you've been taught to believe, Draco."

They didn't say anything after that, but Draco did shift positions so he could see what he was doing with the tape holding his wand together. By the time the sun was high in the sky, Draco had managed to better adhere the wand together with mud, the tape, a little magic, and dumb luck. He certainly wouldn't be a wandmaker anytime soon, but the fix allowed him to conjure out a better lunch for the two of them.

They eat quietly, Draco mulling over Coelfrid's words from earlier. For the twelve hours he'd been in the past, things had gone dramatically different then he ever expected them too. Perhaps the most shocking of all was the glaringly obvious fact that he quite liked Coelfrid—more then he liked Luna, at any rate.

Sure, the man was sarcastic and pried too much, but they had a good banter.

Speaking of which, "You've got a little," Draco gesture on his own face.

Coelfrid made no move to wipe the sauce from his face, looking vacantly at Draco. "What are you staring at?"

"You're a witch."

"Yes," confirmed Draco uncertainly, not sure what he was getting at. "Wizard, technically."

"How does that work?" Coelfrid scowled, scratching his chin. The sauce remained on his face. Draco elected to point that out instead of answering the question.

"Witches are girls, and wizards are boys," Draco said, purposefully being obtuse once Coelfrid had removed the sauce and repeated the question.

He stared.

"What're you looking at me like that for?" inquired a weary wizard.

Coelfrid squinted, tapping Draco's leg with his foot. Draco scowled and wiped the dirt off. "You aren't a boy."

"Yes, I am," insisted Draco. "I was born with a cock and everything. This," he gestured at his chest. "Is a very recent and hopefully temporary development. It was a prank."

"And this is an easy thing to fix?" questioned a suddenly uncertain Coelfrid. Draco didn't blame him, the whole thing was rather confusing, and it didn't help that he had no frame of reference of having seen Draco's masculine self.

"It's certainly not common, but yes. It's a simple potion," replied Draco casually, almost happy to be talking about something nowhere near as heavy as his relationship with his father.

"Why don't you make it yourself?" asked Coelfrid, logically.

Draco's cheeks burned against his will. "I don't know how," he admitted.

"You said it was simple," accused Coelfrid.

"It is," said Draco. "For a potion master."

"These potions are just laying around in your time?"

"Well, no." replied Draco. "They are actually quite difficult to get ahold of—expensive too."

"You said it was an easy fix," said Coelfrid triumphantly. Abruptly, Draco realised he'd been had. Coelfrid was messing with him. He'd never really fallen for something like this, at least not since he was newly sorted into Slytherin. When he was eleven.

Draco was fourteen, now, thanks, and had a much better control over his—

—holy Merlin. Rather unexpectedly, it occurred to Draco that he was suffering through puberty. As a girl. His eye twitched as he accepted if he stayed like this long enough he would probably have a period as well.

"What's wrong now then?" mused Coelfrid.

"I'm a girl," Draco burst out. "An actual girl—most people exposed to the potion accidentally are able to reverse it quickly. They never spend more then a day as the wrong sex—I have boobs."

He felt, rather suddenly, that it was very important to stress the fact that his penis was gone, his hair was long, and he had boobs.

Coelfrid appeared vaguely concerned. "I can see that."

Draco suddenly felt very overwhelmed. Bringing his knees up to his chest he said, "I don't want to be a girl."

"It's alright," reassured Coelfrid awkwardly, looking at Draco like he was a strange sort of bird.

"No, it's not," insisted Draco. "The more time I spend like this the worse it'll be."

"What'll happen?"

That was just it, Draco hadn't the foggiest. He settled on looking pointedly at Coelfrid, like it meant something and he should automatically know. "Can't you be stupid somewhere else?"

Coelfrid mocked looked at the sun and quipped blithely, "Not until noon."

Draco squinted in his direction, mostly because of the angle of the sun. "Are you flirting with me?"

"Not sure," Coelfrid grinned. "Is it working?"

"I'm a boy."

"Yes," he agreed casually. "A very pretty one. That's currently a girl and not a boy at all."

"You've all the charm of a dead slug," grossed Draco unhappily, slouching against the bolder.

"So you admit I'm charming?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm leaving if you keep this nonsense up. I'm hardly required to remain here."

"Yet here you remain."

"Only for your company," retorted Draco dryly.

The Muggle might have said something if Loony hadn't chosen that moment to burst through the trees with the Cucumber and yet another person in tow.

"Oh for the love of Merlin," shouted Draco, fully enraged and slightly embarrassed. "Who've you kidnapped now?"

"Run!" was all Luna yelled, dashing past wildly, undoing Coelfrid's binds wordlessly. "Run!"

It was, inevitably, the shouts in the distance that spurred Draco into action. Taking off in a sprint behind Luna, his long hair coming loose from the strip of fabric he'd tied around it to keep it from his face. His wand laid forgotten in the clearing they'd slept in, and by the time he realised the noise from the men chasing them was too close for him to return for it anyway.

A broken wand wasn't worth it, as upsetting as loosing it more finally was, Draco wouldn't risk his life for a replaceable item. They ran, splitting off as the cries of the villagers echoed through the trees, and Draco understood why they were running.

Vikings.

Luna had broken off with the Cucumber and the other girl who'd run back with her, Coelfrid had taken the lead in front of Draco. They were getting some distance, and Draco allowed himself hope they'd escape—

—and then his foot caught on a tree root, and he crashed to the ground, pain shooting up his ankle as he cried out in pain. Coelfrid hesitated a moment, and Draco saw him scream in frustration as he turned around to help him up.

Coelfrid grabbed Draco's arm, half carrying him and half dragging him through the woods. Draco's ankle screamed in pain, and it became very apparent that if they remained at this pace both of them could be captured.

"Get off!" he shouted suddenly, wrenching himself away from the man. Coelfrid's grip faltered, and for the second time in minutes, Draco fell to the ground.

"What are you doing?" hissed Coelfrid angrily. "Don't be a fool, they will kill you."

"You can't save me!" shrieked Draco. "Run! Let me do this!"

Coelfrid looked at her like he'd never seen her before. Draco's eyes rolled over his face, and he thought maybe he was seeing him for the first time too. Coelfrid's eyes were blue, but not the grey storm blue of Luna and Draco's eyes—his eyes were the blue of a river, deep and dark and lovely, framed by dark lashes, and it felt as though he'd been struck by lightning as he suffered the cold realisation that he wanted Coelfrid to live.

"Why are you doing this?" the voices were getting closer, if he didn't leave now he wouldn't make it.

Draco Malfoy swallowed, and said in reference to his earlier words, "If I must start somewhere, right here and now is the best place imaginable."

Coelfrid ran.

The wizard pushed himself to a stand, his hurt ankle screaming in pain. He leaned against a tree to compensate, and made it a point to go as far from the direction Coelfrid had gone. Draco didn't think he'd ever be a good person—not the way Loony was or Potty tried to be, but he could stall and give Coelfrid a fighting chance.

He was stumbled to a second tree when they finally caught up to him. Draco turned, and looked at them. Somehow, in the moments Luna had flown through the clearing like a hurricane and Coelfrid insisting they'd kill her, Draco had imagined the Vikings to look like something from a bad dream, monsters from a nightmare.

He knew what they saw, a thin, pale girl with an injured ankle and mud down her front. His cloak has long since been forgotten, and the cotton of his shirt was stained with dirty water and grass, the pants he wore remained largely intact, but both items were too big for him and he'd ignored Luna's offers to help resize them, determined to do it himself. He knew when they looked at him they saw a little girl who was terribly lost and afraid.

The first man said something, his tone was mocking, but that was all it took for Luna's charm to work. "You will let me go," ordered Draco in the language the first man spoke, confidence present in his girlish voice he didn't feel.

"You speak Norse?" they all looked at her as though she was a particularly strange creature.

Draco sneered, summoning every ounce of aristocratic 'I'm-better-than-you' snobbery he could. "What, like it's hard?" he taunted.

This, in retrospective, was the wrong move, and resulted in Draco slung over the shoulder of one of the men. He thrashed around angrily, yelling and hitting the man's back.

"Release me this instant!" he shouted loudly, managing a solid whack to the man's stomach with his foot. Pain radiated up his foot, the injured one, as the viking holding her grunted in pain. Draco viciously thought it was worth it, even as he stopped struggling and allowed the men to carry him back to camp.

He hoped, silently, that Coelfrid had managed to escape.

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He was carried back to the village if Yarrin, his eyes lingering on the hill where he'd slept, where his wand rested along with his best chance of escape. He'd since give up fighting, and had settled on glowering at everyone that so much as looked in his general direction. Fairly quickly, he was dragged into a large building and stood in front of a man. Draco immediately got the impression that this was their leader, and this entire thing was Draco's chance to explain why he could speak Norse.

The man stared. Draco stared back, and distantly wished he knew Legilimency. Or, perhaps at the very least, had his wand. Broken or not, it would be rather valuable as Draco's limited wandless abilities were entered more on feelings of rage and extreme annoyance, and the only emotion he was currently capable of summoning was, terribly, worry.

"Why have you brought this woman to me?" the man asked, observing the group with a bored look on his face.

"She speaks our language," was all the Viking who'd grabbed him said. The man looked intrigued, but didn't say anything. The room fell into a silence that left Draco shifting nervously.

"What are you going to do with me?" Draco finally broke the silence, doing his best to sound posh, even in the rough language.

The man leaned forward in interest. "How do you know our tongue?"

"I believe I asked first," sneered Draco, suddenly desperate to convince this man that Draco was every bit as important as he'd grown up thinking. "Is it not polite to answer a lady's question?"

The man let out a huff of a laugh, it might've been something else entirely, but the slight turn of his lips led Draco to the belief that the Muggle leader found him amusing.

"It depends," he replied vaguely, leering at the Wizard's new lithe form. Draco felt he hated being in the wrong body in an entirely different manner.

He swallowed, jutting out his chin as he answered the earlier question, "It was not my intention to learn."

"You were a slave," assumed the man, loosing interest almost immediately.

Draco puffed out his chest, and declared boldly, "No. I am not, nor have I ever been a slave."

The Muggle frowned at him. "You did not say how you learned our language."

It wasn't a question. Draco felt like he couldn't swallow. His eyes danced around the room, and rather abruptly, he realised it was a Church. The pews had been pushed to the side, and the chair the man was sitting in was probably the most expensive thing in the small town that had been ransacked. Draco strongly suspected they'd brought it with them, which felt absurd and ridiculous in a way that nearly cause him to laugh.

Settling on the lie that might allow him to live, Draco steeled himself and said firmly, "My mother."

The room's atmosphere shifted abruptly. "What is it you are called?"

He had decided, sometime during the 30 second span in which he created the insane lie he was now telling, that the best thing he could do for himself was to invent a new name completely.

"Dreki," he decided impulsively, wondering vaguely how much he'd come to regret it. "Dreki Påskliljadóttir."

He needed desperately to blend in, to convince them he was one of them. The best way to do that, with his pale skin and hair, was to speak their language and have a name they might recognise.

"Where does your mother hail from?"

Without thinking, Draco said the first place he could think of that was in Scandinavia. "Helsinki."

The Muggle's eyes narrowed into a glare. He studied Draco for a few moments, before nodding his head and waving his hand.

"Give her to Pridbjørn," he said carelessly. Draco's eyes widened as he immediately began fighting against the men that had grabbed her arms.

"What?" he shouted indignantly. "You can't do this! I'm not a slave!"

"You are now," laughed the Muggle as Draco was taken from the Church.

He screamed and hollered the whole way down the street. At one point, he managed a solid kick to the nuts of one of them men dragging him through the streets. His ankle shrieked in pain, but Draco had managed a brief escape and temporarily touched grass before he was snatched by his arm again and quite literally dragged along the dirt road.

Against his better judgement, his mind wandered to all of the horrible things he knew of Vikings. All the things they did, why the Wizarding World had avoided the shores and preferred to stay inland. Worse, perhaps, because Draco was a girl now. A tiny, thin little witch who didn't have a wand and too much magical control to rely on accidents. Even if Luna came for him, she was a year younger then Draco—they hadn't even had a proper DADA professor since their first year—Lupin was all right he supposed, but they could hardly manage to protect themselves with some basic theory and some spells against Bogarts.

Well. Luna's Obliviation spell was a curse all on it's own, but they could hardly go through an entire crew of Vikings individually—they would hardly wait in line for their turn to become a vegetable.

They dragged her to a woman who wrapped her ankle—it was broken, the bruising was too dark and it ached too much to be anything else. They would be able to do little for him, and Draco was distantly aware of the reality that if he and Luna never did manage to find their way back, Draco would never regain full use of that ankle.

Still, wrapped and give a stick to balance himself on was rather helpful, and as the woman began asking him what he was capable of doing, Draco wondered if perhaps he'd misheard, and this was Pridbjørn.

Staring at his hands in his lap, the dirt under his fingernails made him feel dirty and unwashed, he asked, "What is your name?"

The woman frowned at him. "Sunnifa," she said shortly.

"It's nice to meet you," said Draco finally, offering a watery sort of smile, feeling more like a girl then he ever had before.

Sunnifa gave him a dress. The fabric was rough, coarse material, with large stitching and a generally unflattering shape—and Draco had perhaps never been more thankful for a gift before. He wore it gratefully, shoeless, with his too long hair loose. Sunnifa observed him studiously for a few moments, before asking audaciously, "Are you a woman?"

"Pardon?" asked a bewildered Draco.

"Have you bled?"

"No," answered Draco uncertainly.

Sunnifa nodded shortly, before she told him, "You'll be helping Pridbjørn. He won't touch a child."

At Draco's vacant look, she rolled her eyes and told him slowly, "He won't touch you."

Oh.

Oh.

Stupidly, Draco blinked. He hadn't even realised that was a possibility.

Well, he had, but more in a distant way. Like it wouldn't happen to him even if it happened to someone near him. Draco nodded instead of saying anything, allowing Sunnifa to push him back outside where he was to be taken to Pridbjørn.

Draco was afraid of what he'd find.

.

As it turned out, Pridbjørn Svenson was exactly as Draco had imagined. The man was lewd, eyeing the lumps on his chest and saying Draco's new name with a lecherous grin. Draco, personally, was disgusted—but Sunnifa had assured him that his new master wouldn't touch a child. It was much different then Coelfrid's careless flirtations.

He assumed said Muggle had managed to escape—he hadn't seen him, and Coelfrid was rather bold for a captive after all. Vikings or not, Draco imagined that if he could stare down two desperate witches and walk away unscathed he'd likely manage the same with Muggles.

Pridbjørn was a blacksmith, apparently. Or at least Draco assumed he was, based on the fact that he'd taken up a residence in the smithy and was in the process of getting a fire going when Draco was dragged in and given to him. As a gift.

"Watch out for this one, Dreki's a fighter."

Oh Merlin, blanched Draco. He'd already blocked his poor attempt at lying his way out of slavery, and the reminder was completely uncalled for. Draco cleared his throat, "You may call me Dr—"

His new master's hand collided with the side of his face, and he grumbled, "Shut up."

Affronted, Draco did. Not because Pridbjørn had said too, but because he was offended enough not to be bothered dignifying these filthy Muggles with a response. Slowly, as he leaned against the wall and tuned out the obscene conversation between the Vikings, his gaze drifted towards the window, towards the hill, and he found himself rather hopeful despite the circumstance.

Of course, hope was a dangerous thing, perhaps.

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Bonus

As it turned out, Coelfrid had managed to get away—at least from what Draco could see. The arrival back to the village of Yarrin proved that it had been ransacked rather intensely by the Viking invaders. Several houses burned, and Draco's eyes wandered to the hill, to the clearing he knew was there where his wand lay forgotten. He knew if he had any chance of getting out of this situation, providing Luna didn't return for him, something which he earnestly doubted would happen, it was with the wand.

The men who'd brought him back had him bound, and oddly enough brought him to a man. Draco strongly suspected he'd led the raid, and was also fairly certain they'd brought them together because of Draco's inexplicable ability to speak their language.

The man studied her silently, and after a few long moments asked, "Where are you from?"

Draco spat at him, and hissed, "I do not answer to filth such as you."

It was a little dramatic, sure, but Draco felt that probably the best way to survive this was to establish himself as a person of interest. He needed to convince them he was worth keeping alive. That he was a god.

The man's eyes narrowed slightly.

"And who do you answer too? The Christian God? Are you a holy woman?" he mocked.

Draco outright laughed. Most of the older families held little beliefs, and the ones that did were more pagan values, though he distinctly remembered the Blacks worshipped Old Gods. "My people do not believe such things."

The man quirked an eyebrow, as if to say, 'And who are your people?'

The wizards lip quirked, and the cup the viking had set in front of him slide across the table to Draco. "You may call me Freyja."


End file.
